


Theme and Variation

by orphan_account



Series: On the Occasion of my 1000th follow [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Pianist Vasquez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written for the tumblr prompt "Lucy:  Piano me like one of your French girls".  On the occasion of gaining my 1000th follower.  The real reason why pianists are sexy.





	Theme and Variation

Susan’s fingers began gentle and soft, up high, twinkling and whispering. Lucy sighed. Susan knew her, knew how to touch her with the gentle authority that got the loveliest of sounds from her lips. And, Lucy knew, as Susan’s fingers caressed her cheekbones, chin, the shells of her ears, the tendons down the sides of her neck, that she was only warming up. The soft, high sounds that Lucy heard herself making were only the prelude.

Strong, dexterous, Susan’s thumbs swept over Lucy’s collarbones, slipped up to brush across her lips, and then back down, increasing ever so subtly the pressure of her touch as she did, changing her approach to the same ground even as she covered it again. Her fingers rippled across Lucy’s skin, over the rounds of her shoulders and then back, and then again, back up to brush across her mouth. And Lucy’s sighs changed, and came from lower in her throat.

Theme, and variation.

Susan was passionate, but she was precise. Her hands knew her instrument, and right now, her instrument was Lucy, and she was calling forth the sweetest tones, building slowly toward a crescendo that would be no less beautiful for the fact that Lucy could see and feel it building.

Fingertips pressed into Lucy’s smooth, tan skin, her touch becoming more firm now as she played down the map of Lucy’s nerves. How well she knew them, how skillfully she manipulated them. Down the sternum, up and over the breasts, lingering with a lighter touch at her nipples that were so especially ready for her. Lucy gave her soft moans, obeying the command of Susan’s fingers, delicate and precise and exactly where she wanted them.

But it was not a toccata if it did not work the length and breadth of the instrument, and Susan’s pianist’s hands were adept, her fingers moving everywhere on Lucy’s body; arms, chest, lips, tits, sex. She played stars and spirals on the flat of her stomach, water and sunlight on her lips and neck, earthquakes in the depths of her belly. And Lucy’s voice escalated with the movements of Susan’s hands, moans and cries all carefully and perfectly chosen and timed by Susan’s well-trained hands that knew their beautiful instrument so well.

She would come under that touch, those strong, gentle fingers that knew when to stroke, when to stab. And then she would come again, but differently, because really, what was making love except the balance of light and dark, theme and variation, rhythm and pulse and sound, again, again, again.

 


End file.
